


Ritualism

by Spiria



Category: Tales of Legendia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 20:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3742342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiria/pseuds/Spiria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter, a tree, and his trademark stubbornness. Sometimes Oscar wonders what to do about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritualism

**Author's Note:**

> For Silvie on the prompt: You’re as stubborn as a mule!

Looking out the window, Oscar saw Walter at the large tree by the pond just ahead. It was a part of a ritual where Walter would wake first thing at the crack of dawn, get dressed, and have a go at the trunk to strengthen his fists. After months of doing this, the skin on his hands had split a countless number of times before eventually turning coarse. He no longer bled, his knuckles shielded by the almost leathery texture of his reformed skin. Oscar never liked any of it, but Walter was also never one to listen when it came to respite.

Once he finished laying down the sheets, Oscar pushed the door open and stepped outside. He took a moment to inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh morning breeze of the village before he rounded the cottage. At the base of the tree, there was a sharp thud as Walter threw another punch without so much as a flinch or twitch in his neutral expression. Oscar moved onto the grass and smiled when Walter glanced over his shoulder from the sound of vegetation giving under the weight of a boot.

“You’re at it again, Walter?” asked Oscar, approaching. He looked down at Walter’s calloused hands. While the rest of it remained intact, the outermost skin had frayed from repeated friction. “Maybe you should rest.”

“Is that all you came here to say?” asked Walter.

“Well, that’s what I came to say, but I came to watch, too.” Oscar laid a hand on the large tree, next to the nicks made from punches and kicks reinforced by eres. “Do you ever plan to use crystal eres? If you do, you’ll probably end up uprooting it.”

Walter folded his arms, his stare blank but piercing. “What are you saying?”

“Can I watch?”

“Do what you want.”

For the next set of techniques, Oscar sat on the grass and watched in silence. There was a fluidity to Walter’s movement that resembled a fierce dance one might see in some sort of intense ceremony. Oscar mused that, to a point, such a comparison held true for Walter, whose actions were far too purposeful with a focused countenance that concealed his youth. Walter’s anger aged him. Reining in a sigh, Oscar rose to a stand once the last technique ended.

“Hey, Walter,” he said, inclining his head to the side, “I think you should take a break.” Unfazed by Walter’s glower, he continued, “Don’t do this tomorrow.”

Walter stepped around to face Oscar, his tone of voice bordering on accusatory. “Why?”

“You’ve been working so hard. Do you remember when you first started? Your hands wouldn’t stop bleeding. They’ve gotten tougher now, but you can’t say you don’t feel anything.”

“That’s not important. I need to keep up strength.”

“You’re really strong. Can you just sleep in for one day?”

Narrowing his eyes, Walter shook his head. “The Merines can reappear at any second.”

Oscar smiled wryly, his brows knitting. He reached out to clamp his hands down on Walter’s shoulders. To his credit, Walter did not recoil or anything of the sort – not even the slightest tension settled on his frame, and that did Oscar proud. “You’re important, too.”

“No.”

“Come on, Walter.”

With a severe scowl, Walter shrugged out of Oscar’s. He turned back to the trunk of the large tree, the nicks of which he stared down as his hardened fists clenched. For the fraction of a second, his fingernails flashed.

Oscar watched, almost slack-jawed. The corners of his lips curled upward and he let out an airy laugh, shaking his head. “You’re stubborn as always . . . It’s time for kicks now, right?”

Walter’s answer was a roundhouse kick to the tree, whose bark splintered from the sheer force of the kick. His fingernails flashed with a rage akin to that of Nerifes’ that sent a long, numbing shiver down Oscar’s spine.


End file.
